


i spent all my money on this view (so i could be alone lost with you)

by shortitude



Series: i have only two emotions: careful fear and dead devotion [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AND THEN THERE WAS PORN, F/M, also angst because as i said, also: raven reyes the tender and soft, bellamy is in love with raven pass it on, good luck reading these tags, this ship has angst down to an artform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8116987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: It's not easier to fall asleep now, when her body should finally have a respite from the countless nights spent awake and crouching over some weapon or some plan. It's not easier now that she has had time to grieve and mourn properly, none of the rushed affair of before and all of the bitterness towards the fragile alliance that fell as soon as she expected it to. It's not easier when she works herself needlessly all day to get tired, and crashes in a bed at night with a groan and a flinch, if she's alone in the tent.It's easier when she has him holding her through it, but they don't get a lot of nights like that.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostemotion (geckoholic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



> **Prompt 4:** Raven/Bellamy and the song “Night Swim” by Josef Salvat, interpret however you wish
> 
>  **author's note:** THIS IS A SEQUEL. it really is. don't miss the first part, as it gives you a wider feel of where all the emotions are coming from. dear **gecko** , this happened because the first one was sad (with a hopeful ending) and didn't have enough makeouts in my opinion, so i thought i'd fix it. AND also because you've made me get really into josef salvat for a few weeks and i wanted to write the prompt as thanks.

Nights are a new thing, on the ground. On the Ark, when what passed for the night shift began, the metal construction became one large, floating monster that used to scare little Raven Reyes and defy her when she'd turned older. Sleeping during what was known as the night, but how can you tell it's night time if there's no sunlight during the day, is a struggle almost her entire childhood. When Finn Collins and his warm, inviting family decide to wrap Raven in their arms and pull her into their fold, nights get a little warmer but continue to stay mysterious. A great unknown.

On the ground, for the first two nights, she can't sleep. Every noise wakes her up, every shift outside their tent, every far away laugh, every echoed hoot or cricket. She sleeps the first time because she's exhausted. 

She sleeps a lot because of that, at one point, even though her mind protests and wants to force her to stay awake. 

After Mount Weather falls, the Ark survivors fall into place and settle into a routine of sorts. Some finally have time to get used to what life is like when there's daylight and there's night time, and you can actually see the moon in different phasesduring a week. Some get to get used to being on the surface again, breathing clean air and thanking their gods for being still alive when there are fallen comrades who aren't.

And then, the rare few of them who have had time to grow used to the Ark, to the ground, to the first days of Camp Jaha and the formation of Arkadia, they have time to compare. 

It's not easier to fall asleep now, when her body should finally have a respite from the countless nights spent awake and crouching over some weapon or some plan. It's not easier now that she has had time to grieve and mourn properly, none of the rushed affair of before and all of the bitterness towards the fragile alliance that fell as soon as she expected it to. It's not easier when she works herself needlessly all day to get tired, and crashes in a bed at night with a groan and a flinch, if she's alone in the tent.

It's easier when she has him holding her through it, but they don't get a lot of nights like that.

He wakes her up from restless slumber tonight by shuffling quietly into the tent. Without the war against Mount Weather, there's not a lot of need to be constantly working on the ground now, but the impression of shifts gives everyone the feeling that there is progress, and there's hope in that. 

Not for the first time since they moved all her shit in his tent and called it a thing, she wishes he could have shifts that end with hers, so they can eat dinner together, so they can talk, so they can do a little more than exchange the usual words of _You okay? I'm fine._ Not just so she can sleep better, although also that, but because there are things under the surface of their skins that are bubbling and will one day explode. 

She rolls over on her side and watches him, as he drops his guard gear like he's dropping a gigantic weight off his shoulders, and worries that he's not okay, he's not fine. Of course, if she asks him now, he'll lie and she will get angry and they'll barely sleep but pretend like they can. 

It's Bellamy who surprises her, though, by meeting her gaze with a soft and tired one, by walking over to the side of the cot she's lying on and brushing her hair behind her ear. 

Bellamy who surprises her with a question: "You can't sleep?" 

They've never acknowledged it with words. She shakes her head in answer even now.

"Wanna get out of here for a bit? Somewhere relatively close, but just us two."

Oh, how she does.

\--

The trek is not as hard as one would expect of her, what with the healing wounds and the aching hips and legs and everything. Far be it for Raven to whine about it, though. When they reach the destination Bellamy had in mind, she decides that it was all worth it. 

It's the first lake she sees that doesn't look like it's going to kill them. She's heard of it, it's where Lincoln comes to fish, and where some kids learned how to swim. 

This late at night, the fish are asleep and so are the kids, so it really is just the two of them. For a few minutes, thought, all they do is sit in the grass by the shore, side by side, and look at the reflection of the sky in the water. 

"I'm probably really good at floating," she eventually mutters. Gravity stops being a problem when floating, as does a bum leg and a convalescent leg, so she knows this will do her good. "Have you been planning this long?"

He doesn't make a sound, except to brush his fingers over hers on the ground. Bellamy, she has learned, is a creature who loves touching and being touched, and has been starved for it too long. "Have you ever swam?"

"Not competitively."

"I thought you did everything competitively."

She lets out a snort, and shoves him playfully. She shakes her head, though. "When would I have swum?"

Between being in danger, and getting shot, and rushing to save their people, this is unsurprisingly the first peaceful contact Raven's had with water, and with the night. It feels like the first clean break, and she is flooded (pun unintended) with gratefulness, for him dragging them here. 

"Let's go in," she whispers, her approval anticipated by both of them and met with an exhale of relief. 

He gets up first, and helps her out of her boots, kneeling in front of her. He unfastens her brace with less fumbling than the nights before; he's learned, that's good, that's very good. Her heartbeat skips once, when he runs his hand down her leg, along the curve of her calf, once the brace is off. As far as sensory feeling goes, it doesn't register, but it's the visuals that help. 

That, and she possibly has it bad, she reckons, when he traces the sole of her healthy leg with his fingers and makes her erupt into silly giggles. 

"I feel like a princess," she jokes, lifting her hips and planting her hands on the ground behind her for leverage, to help him pull her pants off. 

He surges up and kisses her on the lips, mouth warm and soft and yielding, so she follows. "You're so much more than that," he murmurs against her lips.

There's the heartbeat again, she tries to laugh it off. "Wow, someone's suddenly a poet."

He manages to brush away her discomfort, her sudden burst of anxiety, with a kiss just off-centre of her collarbone. She still gasps, but for different, more delicious reasons, and he must notice it because he licks the spot above her pulse and sends it spiraling.

"Bellamy," she croaks, and thinks to tell him to take his clothes off and take her now, except the water is right there and she wants to know what his skin feels like when slippery wet like that. 

He finishes undressing her at his own slow pace, pressing a kiss here and there, until she's left in her underwear only. Then, he pulls back, helps her stand, and divests of his clothes quickly, under her attentive gaze. (Her hungry gaze.) 

She wants him, with possibly the sort of verve of someone who's had some time to heal, and mourn, and get her head together. She wants him with the sort of want that flutters in her belly, like butterflies, only the kind that don't die so quickly. She calls it want, but it's quite probably love, and it's terrifying and ironic that she'd be here this quickly with someone who isn't Finn. 

But he is someone who never hesitated, not in believing her nor in believing _in_ her, and that carries weight, that matters. Then there's the way her blood runs hotter when he looks down at her like this, and the way he holds her at night, and anyway who's gonna demand that she explain herself? So she's in love now, and it feels brand new, even if it's still her secret. 

"Come on," he says, and takes her by the hand to lead her slowly into the water, not for one second trying to carry her there, because he believes she can move mountains when she wants to. Of course, when the water is at their waists, she slips and splashes them both. He only holds her hand tighter, lets her decide if she wants his help or not.

She decides to float. The concept is easy, the science of it puts her at ease. She lets herself fall backwards and lets the water hold her up. 

"Holy shit," she whispers, breathless, and squeezes Bellamy's hand. Above her, the night sky spreads wide and open, speckled with all of her stars, all of her constellations. For a moment, Raven Reyes floats, and feels like she did when out in space. 

"Okay?" he asks.

"Don't let me go," she answers, because floating is easy but swimming, in her state, she's not sure. She doesn't want to learn it tonight. 

He doesn't try to make her. 

\--

They both float, until the dark gets to them and the water starts being too cold, and then they move towards the shore slowly. He does pick her up this time, after a nod of approval from her; she doesn’t flinch a single time, over being picked up bridal style and being carried to dry land. She can’t, because she’s distracted by the way he looks down at her once they’re out of the water. 

There’s enough heat in his gaze to dry her off in a second, and yet after she bites her lower lip, what she says is: “So, I’m wet.” 

Just like that, they’re laughing. He sets her down, and just like that, they’re kissing. It starts slow, but crescendoes its way to a deep, borderline filthy kiss in no time. She claws at his hair, he squeezes her ass, they let their moans meet in the middle. 

“Here,” she whispers to him, and he nods before kissing her again. Here, it turns out, ends up being a spot in the tall grass where he helps her lay down, where there’s less mud and more forest floor to keep her softly cradled. He kneels between her legs again, only this time she shifts and drags herself down closer, because she wants this, and she wants to figure out what sex will be like with her bum leg, because she can’t _not_ be assertive. And he looks like he loves it, when she somehow manages to grind against his thigh as he leans in for a kiss. 

“You sure you’re not a fallen star?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss below her ear and pulling up to look down at her. The pressure points where her hips meet his are burning, melting, not close enough. 

She grins at him; misses the revelation he has about her bathed in moonlight completely, because she can’t read minds. “You sure you’re not a fallen poet?”

He throws her in for a loop by throwing her a smile, and rocking his hips forward just so she can feel how hard he is. She lets out a groan. 

“Yeah, thought so,” she hears him laugh, before he kisses her again. 

It hasn't stopped surprising her how much he wants her, at this point. She knows that before getting shot, she was sharp and attractive, but there are days when she feels like a dull, pointless knife and those are the days in which every kiss from him feels like a milestone. 

He brings her down to the ground with a playful nip at the side of her neck, pressing their still dressed hips together. With the wet fabric, the friction is maddening enough, good enough that she knows she could come just like this, but she doesn't want just this. From the way he looks at her for permission when his fingers reach the elastic of her underwear, neither does he. 

She surges up for another kiss, because it's the only way she knows how to thank him for wanting her. The chaste peck turns into a deep kiss, into a pause in getting naked just to enjoy the sensuality of their tongues gently teasing each other. When they separate, they're both smiling, and it feels like they've weathered another storm.

He takes her underwear off and lies it on the grass spread neatly, so it dries in the meantime. Though it's combining the practical with the lustful, she does the same thing with her bra, and lies back against the ground as naked as possible. He joins her, in a sense. Gets naked, but gets comfortable between her legs rather than surging up to kiss her again, and licks her open.

Her breath comes out on a moan, hands grabbing the grass blades at her sides. Feeling him push his tongue inside her has her pulling the grass clean out of the ground, roots and all, she's so wound up. He notices, in the small “please” from her, raw and whispered. He makes out with her, licks her where she likes it so much that it makes her arch, and before long he has her floating again. This time, she grabs onto his hair and comes, a quick affair, but wet; she finds that out when he does surge up to kiss her and she feels herself on his chin. 

She reaches between them as they kiss, wraps one hand around his cock and touches him. Unsurprisingly, he lets out a shuddery breath against her lips from the first touch, because he's good at putting her first and doesn't acknowledge his need until it's driving her up the walls. Her silly masochist. She'll treat him nicely, she decides, she'll give him something sweet to cling to. He deserves that, for every thing he's done for her, he deserves it. 

She strokes him while they kiss, squeezing his cock gently, smiling against his lips when he moans and her hand comes down wetter than before. Bellamy arches and then moves closer, so she rubs him against her slick folds, sharing in his shiver. 

He rocks his hips forward and rubs against her clit, and she is left just a little bit breathless. 

“I wanna be inside you,” he says, which is also a milestone; he rarely remembers to say what _he_ wants. 

“Yes,” she gasps, “yeah, come on.” 

He does. She lets go, he takes her slowly, rocking hard into her like it's a punctuation mark for a very good sentence. It's also so slow, so intense, that she's kept on the cusp of pleasure but not close enough to come undone. 

“Raven,” he says, rooted inside her and making her open her eyes. Oh-- Bellamy Blake in moonlight is a sight to behold, too. “I…” he starts, then his hips stutter forward. 

He leans in and kisses her, and bottoms out of her again, pushing her a few inches up with the next thrust. She doesn't come undone, but some thread is snagged and pulled loose, because suddenly her cheeks are wet. It's terrifying to say it, she's had a bad track record of one, but it's also hard to keep biting it back, when he just keeps on giving her reasons to sink deeper, so she says it.

“I'minlovewithyou.”

“Love you,” he exhales at the same time. 

The jump apart, just look at each other with shock, for a few seconds before letting out a relieved laugh. 

“Come here,” she murmurs, reaching out to pull him down for another kiss. She wraps her healthy leg around his waist; he helps her do the same with the other leg, holding it up for her. The angle changes, the mood changes, and they become frantic, urgent, faster, faster, harder, “Oh-- fuck--”

The nights are different down on the ground. There is no controlled climate, so when the temperature drops at night, it drops. But even if she's wet and lying on the forest floor, hair full of dry leaves, she feels as warm as she would inside a star. 

\--

“You love me?” she asks, later, when they're back in their tent, dry and clean and warm in bed together. 

“You sound surprised,” he murmurs against the back of her head, and pushes his hand up under her shirt to rub small circles against her stomach. Reassurance, when she didn't ask for it. 

He's more than she thought she'd deserve, or end up getting. 

“You're in love with me?” He sounds like that's more than what he thought he deserved too. 

“You sound surprised,” she teases, and covers his hand with hers, lets their fingers thread together. 

He's silent for a while, holding her. They both pretend they don't notice how he's shaking, because there are some wounds that won't get analysed yet. Give them time. “Thank you,” he whispers, when she's almost asleep. 

_That's my line,_ she thinks, but she's so worn out that all she manages is to squeeze his hand. Tomorrow will be another day. She can thank him then.

Or, if luck's on their side, she'll do it every day, without hesitation, for a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> BAWWW, WHAT'S THIS SAP FEST IDEK


End file.
